Another Way to Fall. Amanda Brooke

of crisp autumn leaves as she collected conkers with her dad. It was only following her diagnosis that she realized there was nothing beautiful about nature’s death throes and she had firmly switched her allegiance to spring, preferring the life that erupted from the depths of winter with a shock of apple blossom.

      She had greeted each spring with a sense of victory but now more than ever, she wondered how many more victory dances she had left. As that thought settled on her mind, she gave up holding back the crushing weight of fear that had been growing for days if not weeks.

      ‘I’m scared, Mum,’ she said, the confession slipping out as easily as the first tear that slid down her cheek. ‘I don’t think I can go through it all again.’

      ‘I’m scared too,’ replied Meg, turning to face Emma, her tears a mirror image of her daughter’s.

      ‘Why me? Why is this happening to me?’ Emma demanded, neither expecting nor wanting an answer. ‘It was bad enough first time around but now, now it’s just so damned unfair.’

      ‘I know,’ Meg said, stepping towards Emma and wrapping her in her arms.

      ‘I thought I’d paid my dues.’ Emma’s voice was muffled as she buried her head within her mother’s embrace. ‘I was almost at the five-year mark, I was almost there. That was meant to be the start of the rest of my life. I was going to look for a better job, maybe even move back to London.’

      ‘I know,’ repeated Meg, her voice raw with emotion. ‘And to think, a month ago I wasn’t happy about the idea of you moving back there. I should be careful what I wish for.’

      ‘There’s so much more I wanted to do,’ Emma whispered as she let her mind dip into the pot of dreams she had once kept sacred. ‘I wanted to do everything, see everything, travel the world.’

      Meg pulled back a little and chanced a look at Emma. She was clearly about to hand out another dose of blind faith but one look from Emma told her not to make promises that could not be kept. ‘We’ll see,’ Meg said.

      There was another desperate hug as Emma and her mum clung to each other. Their bodies shook, muscles contorting and throats constricting as they tried to control their sobs. Emma heard the curtain being pulled around her bed and assumed it was Peter giving them some much-needed privacy. That simple act of kindness only intensified her pain and desperation. Somewhere between muffled gasps for air, she thought she heard her mum whisper, ‘Please don’t break my heart.’ Emma felt the crack in her own heart cut a little deeper. Time ticked by, precious seconds that she knew she shouldn’t waste. Slowly the sobs subsided until Emma was ready to face the world again. She sat up straight and unceremoniously sniffed back the tears until her mum handed her a tissue with an unspoken reproach.

      ‘I suppose I can expect this from now on,’ Emma said. ‘Being mothered.’

      ‘Mothered but not smothered,’ Meg assured her. ‘I know I had no right to interfere and make plans without speaking to you first. You’re not the frightened young woman you were four years ago. You’re old enough and certainly experienced enough not to have me telling you what to do. I promise I’ll give you more space.’

      ‘Easier said than done in your apartment,’ answered Emma as she thought back to the time she had already spent there. Her memories of the place were not pleasant. Meg lived in a modern two-bedroom apartment that overlooked the river Mersey, not far from the city centre. She had bought it after her divorce seven years earlier. At the time, Emma had her own life in London and Louise was away at university – it had been sufficient for her needs, or so she had thought.

      She gave her mum her best impression of a rueful smile but it was forced. ‘So how did Louise take the news?’

      ‘She’s going to do whatever it takes to help,’ Meg answered.

      ‘She’s OK about moving out? She has somewhere to go?’

      ‘It’s all arranged. Ally and Gina will help over the weekend to move your things into the apartment ready for Monday.’

      Emma let her body slump back against her pillows in resignation and as she did so, the corner of her laptop pressed against her thigh, vying for her attention. She was no longer in control of her own destiny and she was desperate to find a way back.

       I ran down the corridor as if the hounds of hell were at my heels, driven by an all consuming desire to get out of the hospital. As I pushed my way through the exit doors, it felt as if I was crossing a finish line. I’d done it. At last I could stop running.

       I came to an abrupt halt as soon as I hit fresh air. The sun had disappeared and the sky was leaden but it couldn’t dim my mood. I looked down at the dog-eared appointment card still clutched in my hand. Its list of dates marked my passage through the hospital corridors over the years and the final entry was today and then, well, nothing. No more appointments, not one. The bitter November wind slapped against my face and my jacket flapped around me but I stood tall. I took a deep, cleansing breath and my chest felt lighter. The fear I had carried around with me for so long had finally lifted. I could face anything now, I told myself as I tore the appointment card to shreds.

       I was tempted by the idea of launching the torn pieces of card into the air to shower myself in winner’s confetti but I wasn’t quite ready to throw caution to the wind. It was going to take a while to get used to my new sense of freedom. I tried to recall my life before cancer had come crashing into it. I had been confident and carefree once … hadn’t I?

       I had left home with a handful of dreams and headed for university. From there, I had moved to London where, unlike many of my peers, I had landed on my feet. I was taken on by a big PR and marketing company that had offices all over the world and amazing career prospects, and it wasn’t long before I started to climb the ladder of success. I loved a challenge and I knew straight away I was well suited to the work. That was when the first symptoms had started to appear. The blinding headaches and blurred vision had made working difficult and then the diagnosis of a brain tumour had made it impossible. I was forced to turn my back on my dream job and return home. I later heard that the young woman who had taken my place was now based in New York and taking on all kinds of amazing assignments.

       The tumour in my brain had been removed but the surgeon’s knife had taken away much more than simply my cancer. My ambitions, my desire to be a wife and a mother one day, these were things that required an undisputable belief in the future and I had lost that. So I had buried the dreams that I feared would always be denied me and spent the last few years treading water, taking a job as an office manager with a small family business that made fittings for kitchens and bathrooms. The business was expanding, and a new position came up as Marketing Director. I had already shown that I had the experience and the capability, but it was Alex who got the job, not me. Alex, whose father just happened to be a close friend of Mr Bannister, the owner of the company. He had the confidence and the contacts. The lost job opportunity was only a minor addition on a long list of life’s injustices so I had swallowed my disappointment and trudged onwards.

       But all my troubles were behind me now and I was ready to take back what was mine. I took another deep breath of cold, November air and held it as I waited for inspiration to strike. A frown began to crease my brow as I let go of the breath in a long low hiss. What exactly did I want from my second chance at life? Other than savouring every minute, I hadn’t really thought it through.

       I suppose I had imagined that the rest would be easy. I was free! If I could beat cancer, surely I was entitled to pick and choose what else my life would hold. I’d had my fair share of misery and pain, now I wanted to get to the good bit. I half expected to be met at the hospital gates by a kindly shopkeeper who would magically transport me to his store of dreams. He would stand with his hands deep in his pockets, watching me intently as I scanned shelf upon shelf of boxes in an assortment of colours and sizes, each one containing something different but equally exciting. He would wait patiently for me to make my choices from a vast array of delicious adventures. It was all mine for the taking.